


Conditions of Business

by Megkips



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Archaeological looting, Gen, Mages behaving badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megkips/pseuds/Megkips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sola-ui purchases a relic, and uses it as an opportunity to carve out a space for herself while complying with her family's desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conditions of Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puella_nerdii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puella_nerdii/gifts).



There’s an extremely loud, obnoxiously cheerful ringing coming from _somewhere_ in Sola-Ui’s dormitory. Hell if she knows where, though, or what the cause of it i--

\--oh. The phone. _Right._ She moves her linguistics textbook from her lap and reaches over towards the nightstand where her phone ought to be. Ought being the key word; she’s moved so much stuff around lately in an attempt to find clean clothes that it could be anywhere. It takes a moment to sift through the pile of papers, pens and notebooks that have migrated to her nightstand since yesterday, and for a moment, the noise disappears. Maybe the call wasn’t that important.

The fact that the damn thing rings again is just to spite her, Sola-ui _knows_ it.

“Yes?” she says into the receiver, once she’s picked it up. Only three people in the whole of the United Kingdom have her number, giving her permission to do away with the usual polite greeting. “What is it?” 

The most welcome of those three potential voices responds, smug. “Hi. How’s Scotland?”

“What do you want, Bram?” Sola-ui fires back. The tone’s irritation is fake - its a relief to hear from her older brother after two months of silence.

“First year not going so great?” he asks. The smugness evaporates, replaced with genuine concern. 

“Let’s go with this paper is more harder than I thought it would be. I mean it, what do you want?”

Bram sighs, the noise crackling in Sola-ui’s ear. “I need you to come to London and help me with something.”

“ _Bram_ ,” Sola-ui intones, the gravity nearly crushing his name. “Is this a Clock Tower assignment, or are you trying to do something that Dad would have your hea--”

“Clock Tower!” he spits out automatically, and his hands must be flailing because the phone goes _thud!_. Sola-ui can see her brother’s arm movements as clear as day, and she laughs, knowing exactly what he looks like right now. 

“It’s for Clock Tower,” Bram repeats again, once he’s recovered the phone. “I didn’t think I’d need two people for this, but something came up, hence this being so last minute. I can’t ask Dad for help with it because it’s school work and he’s at that conference in Berlin, and Mum’s still in Argentina doing God knows what research, and my classmates can’t help because we all have the same assignment, so I figured you might be able to help and since this kind of team work is going to be expected of us in the future we--”

“Okay, stop,” Sola-ui cuts in. She knows the rest of the speech, she’s heard her mother and father use it on each other time and again when they needed someone else on their team, Bram’s picked it up from them. Its really no surprise that he already has it committed to memory. “What are we doing, and what’s our time frame?”

“An auction,” Bram says simply. “S’on Tuesday the 26th, here in London.”

She nods, slowly. “And I imagine you want me there by Monday so we can sit and plan.”

“And it’s Saturday now. Can you take the train from Edinburgh to London tomorrow? And when’s your paper due?”

“Thursday. And I can, but it’ll be expensive.”

“What if it’s sold out?”

Sola rolls her eyes. “Magecraft. Also, you’re covering my cost of travel. Train ticket and cab.”

“That’s fair,” Bram says into the phone. “Meet me at dad's flat in Kensington?”

“Fine. Be prepared to help me with my bags. I haven’t done laundry in a fortnight.”

Its funny how well Bram’s mannerisms can carry over the line. Sola-ui can see how hard he’s cringing. “Good God,” he mutters, before adding. “Okay. I’ll see you when you get in tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, let me start packing. See you.”

The receiver on the other end goes _click_ , leaving Sola-ui to survey the utter mess that is her dorm. It’s an embarrassment, living in such filth, and _damn_ she wishes she could chalk it all up to the stress of university. It’d be a lie though, there were much worse messes back home in her bedroom, born out of pure laziness and the knowledge that a maid would come in to straighten up.

“Suitcases,” she says, addressing the mess. “I’ll probably need all of them.”

 _If_ , Sola-ui adds mentally. _If I can find where they’ve migrated to._

*

There’s a certain satisfaction in avoiding the brisk chill of London in November from the back seat of a cab. Sola-ui watches the world pass from the window. The tourists are bundled up in their warmest coats, still taking photographs, while everyone else grumbles to themselves about the weather, muttering under their breath about how it’s much chillier for this time of the year than it ought to be.

 _They’d be miserable in Scotland,_ she thinks, and her lips purse together in a thin smile.

The almost bare trees of Hyde Park catch her attention as they pause at a traffic light, no longer showing the pageantry of fall, but rather the sketch of the landscape. A few brown leaves still cling to the trees, stubborn against the wind. Her cab makes its final left, and pulls up to the curb.

“This is the right place,” Sola-ui assures the driver, grabbing her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

The amount the driver tells her actually doesn’t matter. She hands the cabbie a fifty pound note, then reaches for the car door. “Since I made you carry so many bags,” she explains, opening it and stepping out. “Speaking of, can you open the boot?”

The timing is perfect. By the time all five of Sola-ui’s suitcases are unloaded, Bram is finally coming out of the building, short red hair perfectly arranged, uneven stubble on his face. He looks from Sola-ui to her luggage, then back to her, and stares. “ _All_ of that is your laundry from uni?” he asks, incredulous. 

“Yes,” Sola-ui confirms, over the roar of the cab’s enginge as it drives away. She slings the bright green duffle bag over her shoulder, and then picks up the two smaller blue suitcases. “Grab the brown ones, they’re the heaviest.”

Bram does as instructed, but it doesn’t stop him from glaring. “You know that we’re on the fourth floor and there’s no lift in the building, right?”

In response, Sola-ui only grins. “I hauled all of that down out of my third floor dorm to the street in heels, and the steps at uni are much steeper than the ones here.”

“Show off,” Bram snorts as they head into the building. “Careful of the third floor stairs,” he adds. “There are a few new gaps, and I don’t want your foot getting caught.”

“Got it,” she acknowledges, making her way to the stairwell. “You’d think they’d have taken care of that years ago.”

“Especially with how expensive this place is to rent,” Bram says in agreement.

Once up the steps, Bram is the one to open the apartment door. Immaculate white greets them - a white hallway that leads into an open living room that boasts white sofas, white armchairs, white carpet on top of hard wood, white walls, bricks painted white in the non-functioning fireplace. Sola-ui places her bags down and gives the place a nearly fond smile.

“They’ll know we were here,” she says, leaning down to take off her shoes. The red stands out against the carpet, and she decides that they’re fine where they are. Really, the room needs the contrast.

Bram places the other bags down against the wall and goes to flop on the largest and comfiest of the sofas. “Inevitable. Did you get any of your paper done on the train?”

“Some reading,” she replies, sinking into the nearest armchair. “I know what I need to write and how to execute it to the expectations of my advisor, so I’ll probably just do that on the train home.”

“Linguistics is that hard, huh?”

“It’s the field, it’s the fact that it’s the University of Edinburgh, and it’s the nice little bit of pressure Dad put on me when he _agreed_ to let me go to university, repeating yet again, ‘This is for the whole of the family, not just for you,’” Sola-ui intones, unsurprised that Bram joins in, using the same exhausted voices she is. “The biggest advantage I have is that I’m hundreds of miles away, whereas you’re maybe a mile from Dad’s office at most.”

Bram fakes an annoyed groan, and snatches a pillow off of the end of the sofa. “Yeah, I kind of hate that little perk.”

Sola-ui laughs, well aware that she’s all but sliding off of the armchair and onto the floor. “I don’t. Speaking of,” she continues, “What _exactly_ is going on with this auction tomorrow that you dragged me all the way from Scotland for?”

“--Right!” Bram says, suddenly sitting up. The pillow is put aside, and he reaches for the coffee table. “Come here, I’ll explain.”

Sola slides onto the floor with all of the grace she can manage, then picks herself up so that she can go over to sit on the sofa next to her brother. There’s a Sotheby's catalog in his hand, and he finally looks serious about something. 

“It’s a universal second year assignment for all students in the evocation department,” he explains, thumbing through the pages. “We’re expected to acquire at least one artefact, so that we know how to go about doing so for all future evocation needs. This means that we’re permitted to use all our resources in order to purchase - legally or illegally - an item of some historic value. The how of how you go about getting your item is completely unimportant - the point is that you get it, and gain that experience. You then write a paper about the experience, just to show the department your methodology.” 

“That’s a second year assignment?” she frowns. “I’d expect that to be a first ye--”

“--Financial independence,” Bram explains. “They want everyone to have their own bank accounts and everything.”

“Makes sense,” Sola-ui says, eyes flickering back to the catalog. “What are we bidding on?”

“We-ell,” Bram says, picking a page and offering Sola the book. “We’ve got options. Like this one, here.” His finger settles on the description for lot twenty-six. 

“A grant of hunting rights from Henry the Third?” Sola -ui frowns, looking from the lot number to the price. “Four hundred pounds. That’s not bad. Did you look at the lot below it?”

Bram’s eyes flick back to the page. “The Henry the Fifth letters? Yeah,” he confirms. “But they’re not as desirable, even if they are starting a hundred pounds cheaper.”

Sola offers him the book back. “What else?”

Bram takes it, flipping through the pages. “Hm, there’s lot one hundred and seven.”

“Which is...?” she asks, trailing off.

“Hystories Anciennes Jusqu’a Cesar.” He hands her catalog back, pointing at the title. 

“‘The History of the World, in French, Here Called L’Estorement du Monde,’” Sola finishes, her eyes moving from the title to the set of four miniatures on the opposite page. “Oh, wow, those are remarkably good colour illustrations, the blues in particular. No wonder this caught your eye.”

“Mm,” Bram says, “Check out the next page.”

Sola-ui does so, eyes lighting on the paintings of war elephants and cities under siege. “These are the worst elephants I’ve ever seen,” she grins. 

Her brother snorts, making no attempt to hide his truly magnificent eyeroll. “It was commissioned by a French knight, and features the history of the world from creation to Julius Caesar. I think the description says that there’s about fifty miniatures?”

Sola-ui turns to the next page, and nods in confirmation. “Fifty, yes. And for the mere price of--” she trails off, turning another page. “One hundred thousand pounds, just to start. I understand why you’d want this, but you couldn’t use this as an evocation artefact.”

Bram nods in agreement. “Which is one of my major concerns. There’s one other item that I’m looking at. May I?”

“Of course,” Sola says, passing the catalog back. “Which lot number?”

“Lot ninety-three,” Bram murmurs, flipping to a page that he had dog eared earlier. “The Gospels of Saint Hubert. The starting price is two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.” He offers her the catalog back, and self assured grin on his face. “This one’s a bit of a long shot, admittedly. And--”

She lets out a low whistle, taking it back. “This is an incredibly long description. Hang on.”

Bram falls silent, letting Sola-ui read through. Her hands turn the pages slowly, and when she looks up, her face is completely still. “It’d be a good investment, even if, again, you can't use it in an evocation ritual,” she says calmly. “Rare text, produced in the Carolingian Empire and showcasing some of their finest work, it has potential connections to the Carolingian kings themselves, and the few illustrations they have in here are quite nice. Did you head down to Sotheby's to view this?”

“I did, and it’s even more gorgeous in person. They told me the conservation efforts that would be needed while I was there, and it doesn’t sound like they’d be too demanding. Certainly nothing that we couldn’t afford. Plus we’d be owning monastery property, which would irritate the Church some.”

“Always a bonus,” Sola-ui agrees. “How am I coming into play here?”

“I’m not the only person going the legal route for this assignment,” Bram says simply. “At least one of my classmates has eyes for the Saint Hubert Gospels, and I know two of them have eyes for the Hystories Anciennes Jusqu’a Cesar.”

Sola-ui’s eyebrows knit together, and her arms come to fold across her chest. “You called me down here to be the cute distraction that flirts with your classmate while you spend a truly impressive amount of money for school?” Ice settle overs the room.

Bram frowns at the question. “What?” He pauses, then shakes his head no. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. I mean, yes, flirting is in the plan, but I’m going to be doing it, not you! I want _you_ to do the bidding.”

“--Seriously?” she asks, like she must have heard him wrong. “You’re going to be the cute distraction?”

“Unless you think I can’t pull it off,” he grins. “I’ve gotten some practice at facu--”

“--Oh God,” Sola-ui groans, trying to hide her laugh. “I don’t want to know how you’ve gained that skill, stop, stop!”

His laugh - high-pitched, giggly - joins Sola-ui’s bark, and for a few moments, they’re nothing but a pile of delighted children again, having just seen one of their father’s experiments backfire in an entertaining and mildly dangerous way.

“Is your classmate at least cute?” she manages, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Well, he is, yeah,” Bram admits. “His hair still thinks its in the 70s glam era, but his ass makes up for it. More importantly, I think he only has eyes for the gospel I showed you, and oh--” He pauses, watching his sister’s eye narrow in thought. “You have an idea?”

“A plan,” Sola-ui corrects. “First of all, did you register for the auction already?” She straightens up, fingers drumming against the sofa.

Bram nods. “I registered myself under my own name, and you under the name of Elizabeth Jenkins, since you have enough documents in that name.”

“Good,” Sola-ui says approvingly. “What we can do is have you bid on the Henry the Third letters. If you win, then your classmate has been thrown off, and you have no need to bid on the Gospels. Sit towards the back of the room, I’ll sit in the front; that way we’re not seen as together.” 

“Then as far as the gospels go--?”

“Let him bid, flirt, keep him distracted. He won’t be the only other person interested in them either, I’m sure. I’ll be sure to participate, particularly towards the end. Do you have a price limit for these?”

Bram pauses to mull over the question, eyebrows knitting together. The consideration is a good sign for the family’s financial stability in the future, as far as Sola-ui’s concerned. “Over one and a half million will be my stopping point,” he says finally. “If we fail to acquire the gospels, we go for the Cesar lot. Same strategy, same price limit.” 

Sola-u nods in agreement. “What’s the address of the auction house?”

“Lemme see,” he murmurs, flipping through the catalog. “Here we go. Grosvenor Gallery, Bloomfield Place, off New Bond Street, London.” The catalog shuts, and Bram places it back onto the coffee table. “Are you okay with doing this?”

The question gives Sola-ui pause. “Which this are you referring to? The bidding, or being dragged down here last minute?”

“Being dragged down here last minute,” Bram clarifies. “This isn’t going to be the last time I ask you to do this.”

“Bram, you called me up to ask me to go _shopping_ for you,” Sola-ui shoots back. She knows the point he’s really trying to make, and no part of her wants to acknowledge or discuss it. “Bad timing aside, why would I have a problem take issue with what you’re asking me to do?”

He levels his gaze at her. “ _Sola-ui._ ”

“ _Bram._ ” She matches him, calm tone for calm tone, eyes as cool as his. “If this is the kind of stuff you’re going to have me assist with when you genuinely become head of the family, I don’t have a problem with it. The sudden summons - and no, evocation joke not intended - are a pain in the ass, and I don’t want you to make a habit of them, but there are worse things than you asking me for my opinion, listening to it, and treating me like a partner in the family enterprise.” She leans against the sofa, one arm rising to drape across the back. “I’m surprised you asked.”

Bram nods slowly. “I ask because when you were given the permission to go to uni, you chose an institution hundreds of miles away. That sent a message, you know.”

“I won’t lie,” she replies, with a little snort. “The independence is nice. But like I said. Being treated as a partner in this means a lot.”

A little smile flicks across Bram’s face. “I’ll keep doing it then.” 

Sola-ui’s eyebrows rise, not sure what to make of Bram’s smile or the little apologetic twinge in her brother’s voice “Good,” she says, electing to ignore them both. “Now, what do you want to do about dinner?”

The mood lightens instantly. “Pub or Chinese takeaway?”

“Takeaway. You’re drunk with one beer in you, and if we have to be at Bond Street tomorrow...” She trails off ominously. 

“Point. Let me go find the menu,” Bram says, rising to his feet. “As for leaving, let’s be out the door by nine-thirty? Will that be enough time?”

“It’ll have to be,” Sola-ui says. “And don’t worry, I won’t look eighteen when we leave.”

Bram’s laugh echoes from the kitchen. “Like I expected you to! Chicken lo mein good?”

“Yes, please.”

*

Sola-ui settles into her chair in the auction room, her expression completely blank. She knows the cold air that she’s put on, that her heels, black wool coat, hair pulled back and up into a severe bun, only make her look older, more serious, more of a threat. The demeanor hides a barely restrained smile as she takes in the room’s atmosphere - tense, excited, eager, anxious, and ready to do combat with perfect strangers for the sake of owning an item that might have been a dream purchase for years. There’s nothing like it, Sola-ui knows, and she wonders what it must be like for those there for the first time. Her eyes scan the crowd, picking out the gawkers and those there to actually bid. Its easy enough. Those bidding have their paddles in their laps at the ready, the tourists are, well. She can see at least two groups of them in the room, all sneakers and ugly shirts, and knows that they will go home with stories of just how much money was spent in front of them. They chatter among themselves, and for a moment, she swears she sees her brother smack dab in the middle of them. But no, he’s to larger group’s left side, chatting with a young boy with black hair - probably his competition for the Gospels - blissfully unaware that she’s seen him. As it should be, really.

Her eyes move from her brother down to her watch to check the time. 10:59 AM.

A minute passes, and a hush falls over the room. Everyone, even Sola-ui, holds her breath as the auctioneer makes his introductory remarks, and no one dares to exhale until the first lot is put on the block.

“Fragments of English medieval manuscripts, in Latin, on vellum, recovered from book bindings. We’re opening at one hundred and fifty pounds.”

The lot goes for a few hundred more. Sola-ui nearly rolls her eyes - that much just for a fragment - but its likely all the bidder can afford, or else they’re far too interested in scraps. 

By the time the Henry the Third letters come up to the block, the room’s energy has morphed from tense to a quiet, dignified enthusiasm. There are smiles when lots are won - small, thin, reserved - mixed with friendly glares towards the winners, palpable disappointment when lots go to a phone bidder, or else the reserve fails to be met.

Bram wins the lot for a final price of eight hundred and seventy pounds. Sola-ui fights the urge to glance behind her and give him a smile. The Gospels aren’t theirs yet.

The time between lots twenty-six and ninety-three moves like a glacier. Sola-ui can feel her eyes glazing over - lot sixty. Lot seventy-five. Lot eighty-nine. Lot ninety-two.

Finally, the auctioneer announces lot ninety-three. “The Gospels of Saint Hubert,” he adds. “From the Abbey of St-Amand, around eight hundred and sixty A.D. This item was last seen in nineteen thirty-two. We will begin at two hundred fifty thousand pounds sterling.”

Immediately, the price changes. “Two sixty, two seventy two eighty, two ninety,” the auctioneer continues. There’s motions from the box of phone bidders as well, and Sola-ui cannot risk turning back to see if her brother has managed to prevent his classmate from placing even a single bid.

The price is at three hundred thousand. Sola-ui raises her paddle, and bumps it up another ten thousand pounds. Within moments, its already three hundred fifty thousand. No where near Bram’s reserve, but climbing fast. Three paddles and two phone bids increase the price to four hundred thousand, and Sola-ui takes just a moment to sneak a look back at her brother.

He’s talking to black-hair, smiling, looking much too pleased. Black-hair’s clearly unsure if he should pay attention to Bram or the auction, and Sola-ui has to fight back a scowl when black-hair manages to raise his paddle and laugh at the same time. The jerk’s just made the price four hundred and thirty thousand pounds.

The price rises to five hundred thousand without Sola-ui’s help. She grits her teeth, listening to the increases go up, up, and up. Five hundred fifty thousand. Six hundred thousand. The eagerness and excitement continues, and she knows that this item will get to one million all too easily.

“Shit,” she murmurs, listening as the price rises to one million fifty thousand. There’s a pause before the auctioneer announces the price bump to one million one hundred thousand. The pause is a good sign though, it means that the item is starting to get too expensive for most budgets. Another paddle goes up, and the price jumps to one million one hundred fifty thousand. Sola-ui turns to find Bram again, barely listening as another fifty thousand pounds are added to the price.

Their eyes meet, and Bram mouths instructions to her. “He’s out,” he says. “Get them, don’t worry about budget.” Sola-ui nods to show that she’s understood, turns back around, in order to raise her paddle.

“One million three hundred fifty thousand,” the auctioneer confirms. “Is there one million four hundred thousand?” 

The next bid goes in, and Sola-ui counters it, bumping the price up yet again. The fact that the auctioneer is making a point to slow down the cost indicates that there is only one other bidder, and Sola-ui can’t help but beam at that realization. Whoever it is - ah, the middle aged bald man sitting two rows in front of her, on the far left - is as rich as she is, as determined as she is, and is as set on the lot as she is. She smiles in spite of herself, the raises the price by twenty thousand pounds. 

Somewhere around one million five hundred thousand, the auctioneer decides to increase each bid only by fifty pounds. The price is now one million five hundred twenty thousand three hundred pounds, and her competition’s paddle is starting to hesitate.

She grins, and raises the price to one million five hundred twenty thousand three hundred fifty pounds. 

“The price is now one million five hundred twenty thousand three hundred fifty,” the auctioneer says, and Sola-ui can _see_ the auctioneer’s eyes eyes meeting those of her opponent. Slowly, shakily, the paddle goes up.

The auctioneer notes it, announcing the new price. “One million five hundred twenty thousand four hundred.”

Sola-ui raises the paddle again, confident that it will be the last bid. “One million five hundred twenty thousand four hundred fifty,” he auctioneer announces. Silence settles over the room, and Sola-ui can see the shoulders of her opponent slump. One million five hundred twenty thousand four hundred fifty is a weird number to draw a line at, but she does not question it. Her eyes fix on the auctioneer, tensing as he says, “Last warning.” Silence. “Selling for one million five hundred twenty thousand four hundred fifty pounds.” The hammer hits his podium with a light _tap_. “Sold for one million five hundred twenty thousand four hundred fifty pounds sterling, thank you. Next lot.”

Sola-ui smiles, pleased, and watches the next two lots sell before standing up to leave so that she can take care of paper work.

She catches Bram’s eye as she heads towards the door. He looks up just long enough to give her an acknowledging nod, and turns his attention back to his classmate, who has the auction catalog open on his lap, looking utterly broken at his loss.

*

Sola-ui walks into the pub at five o’clock precisely. Her heels are gone - replaced with sensible flats, as is her coat. Her hair is down as well, and she makes a show of sinking into the seat across from her brother. Bram inches one of the two pint glasses on the table towards her, and she takes it gratefully.

“Was that hour long delay from changing or from paperwork?” he asks with a grin. 

“Both,” Sola-ui says, holding a finger up. Bram pauses accordingly and watches her inhale her beer in a rather impressive forty five seconds. The glass comes down, and Sola-ui beams, foam mustache and all. “So. The item is being delivered to the apartment in five days, I told them that a Mister Michael Jenkins will be there to sign for them.”

Bram nods. “Got it. You matched our false IDs?”

“I told them that Elizabeth Jenkins was Michael’s sister. Now,” Sola continues, resting her forearms on the table and leaning forward. “Are there any other assignments this term that might require me to help you? Because if so, I need to know about them now.”

Bram copies the gesture exactly. “There are not, I promise.”

“What about next term; do you have any idea?”

He shakes his head no. Sola-ui offers him a worried look. “There’s not going to be an assignment about the _illegal_ procurement of items?”

“ _If_ there is,” Bram replies, “They’re keeping that information hidden.”

Sola-ui takes another sip of her beer, kicking Bram lightly under the table. “This is one of those times I’d try and sneak a copy of the secret curriculum from Dad. My understanding is that the illegal side of things is more time consuming than the legal side.”

“You should ask,” Bram counters with a grin. “He’s more likely to tell you, under the assumption that you won’t abuse the information.”

“ _That_ is true,” Sola agrees. “And the illegal procurement won’t actually be an issue, thanks to that archaeology team in Ireland the family’s been bankrolling.” 

She smirks as Bram’s face lights up in delight. “Right, right,” he says. “We could just skim something off the top.”

“Exactly.” Sola finishes the last of her beer, and places the down towards the edge. “I’m happy to handle the particulars, if you want me to, and _if_ you give me enough of a heads up.”

Bram pauses, looking down into his own beer glass. “I very well might,” he says thoughtfully. “You had fun today, didn’t you?”

“Bram, you had me shop _competitively._ Of course I had fun.” She pauses, casting her empty glass a weary look. “I can’t believe I have to go write a paper after all of that.”

The pitifulness of her expression causes Bram to laugh. “I do too, remember? Although you might want to head back to the flat, so you can start your massive tonne of laundry.”

“You’re probably right,” Sola agrees, sliding out from the booth. “And if I don’t have all due credit in that paper--”

“--Don’t worry” Bram says solemnly. “I wouldn’t dream of downplaying your role in all of this”

“See you at the flat, then,” Sola says, leaving a ten pound note on the table. “Takeaway curry for dinner?”

“Sounds good. Also, don’t forget that the first washing machine tends to eat clothes if you overstuff it.”

She nods in acknowledgement, then heads towards the pub door. It jingles as she exits.

***

Sola-ui grumbles, pressing her sponge down harder on the edge of the tub. It is easier to focus on the disgusting bath ring that has built up than deal with anything relating to her idiot, _idiot_ brother. He’s been missing a month now, and the family’s fears have only gotten worse. Well, fears about the Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri crest stitched into his shoulder, not about Bram specifically. His disappearance had brought to light the general family opinion that he was a middling mage at best - skilled at politics but no great spell caster - and that the only reason he had been trusted with the damn thing was that he had simply been born first.

She shoves the thought aside, ignoring the little reminder that if the crest doesn’t return, her role within the family will shift from adviser to the only way for the line to continue. The soap in the sponge drips down the side of the tub, and Sola-ui can feel just how much her fingers ache. It’s a dull throbbing pain, and it finally pulls her mind from reflecting on her brother. Wherever he is.

***

Sola-ui is only half listening as Kayneth raves on the other end of the phone. He’s been on the same _how dare anyone even think of doing this_ tangent for a good fifteen minutes, and the temptation to hang up is increasing with each passing second.

“You’re an idiot not to have a back up artefact,” she chides, when he finally pauses to catch his breath. 

There’s a deep breath on the other end of the line. “I am _not_ ,” Kayneth begins, only to be cut off immediately.

“Yes, you are,” Sola-ui says, making no attempt to hide the contempt in her voice. “What class do we want, and how soon do we need the item? Contrary to what you might think, we have options right now, so long as one of us can think levelly.” 

There’s a pause, and then a class name. Sola nods. “Saber’s completely manageable,” she says into the phone. “What’s your self imposed deadline?”

“Monday.”

“Fine. I’ll call you when I’ve got something.”

Sola-ui hangs up before Kayneth can reply. She’d have let him make suggestions on what sort of artefact to acquire, or how to go about it, if she thought it would be a conversation rather than being given instructions. With a weary sigh, she looks from the phone to the little black address book that sits on the kitchen counter, and flips to the tab labeled _G_.

After a few moments, a cheerful voice on the other end of the line answers. “University of Edinburgh; you’ve reached the archaeology department, how may I help you?”

*

Athlone is a city. There’s a mercy in that. There’s less stereotypical Irish green countryside, fewer sheep running about, and a greater frequency of pubs, which Sola-ui absolutely intends to take advantage of before returning to London.

Her rented Land Rover rolls through the streets of Athlone, eyes drifting from the road to her map. The map, enhanced by magecraft to show the precise route she should be taking, glows a dull red. “Got it,” she murmurs to herself, flicking on the turn indicator, turning down Abbey Road. After a few minutes of quiet, punctuated only by the need to change gears, Sola-ui’s map glows a dull blue, indicating that she’s reached her destination. She frowns, looking from the map to the road around her. The abbey is exactly where it ought to be, and she can see a weedy looking man with grey hair and a great grey beard standing beside one of the tombstones. 

The need to park comes first though, and it is a genuine miracle that parallel parking the Land Rover doesn’t end with with anyone’s front or rear ends being smushed. Parking accomplished, she climbs out of the cumbersome car and heads right for the dilapidated abbey, black heels clicking on the sidewalk as she goes.

When she’s close enough, she catches the weedy looking man’s eye, and smiles at him. He returns the smile, and heads towards her, grubby sneakers stomping across the pristine green grass. There’s the occasional squelch as he walks, and Sola-ui makes a note to remain on the sidewalk for the duration of their meeting.

“Miss Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri, “ he says, Scottish accent nearly impenetrable. “You found it okay!”

“Doctor Gow,” she says, knowing that behind the weedy Scotsman and his scraggly greying beard, there’s a great bear hug waiting to pounce. It does, tighter than usual, and she pats his back awkwardly. “You may let go now.”

She’s released, reluctantly, and it isn’t until she wobbles on her heels that Sola-ui realizes that she was also picked _up_. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, his usually cheerful tone subdued. “I heard about your brother going missing; I wasn’t sure what--”

“--Its fine,” she says, smile thin and forced. “You said you had the item from the dig?”

This time, Doctor Gow _does_ laugh, and motions for Sola-ui to follow him. “I do, I do,” he assures her, stomping back through the grass. He takes no notice of Sola-ui’s careful use of the sidewalks, and simply waits for her to meet him at the entrance to the abbey.

Up close, Sola-ui notes how many tombstones are simply leaning against the abbey’s outer wall, long moved from the graves that they used to mark. There’s no roof on the old building, and just by peering through one of the old windows, its clear no one has made much of an effort to keep the place in shape. The floor is covered in overgrown grass, and any and all glory this place once had is long gone. 

“Are you eyeing this place for excavations?” she asks conversationally, watching as Doctor Gow roots around behind one of the old tomb stones.

He shakes his head no, speaking down towards the grass. “The funding your brother gave us was for the site near the old ford, and the contract stipulated that we were only permitted to dig in that area. Unless you or your father make a change to the document when it’s time to renew our funding, well, this place will stay as it is,” he shrugs, inching backward ever so slightly. When he stands up, there’s a small box tucked under his arm. “Truth be told, I don’t think there’s anything here worth excavating. I’d rather continue along the river.”

Sola-ui half nods, eyes now resting on the box. “That is--?”

“Yes,” he confirms, holding the box with both hands. There’s nothing remarkable about what the box looks like - it’s the length of a wine bottle, made of pinewood, with no flourishes or decorations, and the clasp attached is purely to make sure the lid stays closed. “Would you like to see?”

“Please.”

Doctor Gow undoes the clasp, and then lifts the lid. It’s done without any reverence, but Sola-ui swears this must be how kings feel when presented with precious gems, gold, and all the tribute they’ve demanded. The only difference is that these two little spear heads are worth even more.

“You found these at the ford?” she asks, leaning in to examine them. Sola-ui is no authority on age, or spears, or archaeology, but she knows that the dull red-orange flecks are probably rust, that they’re too fragile looking to handle, and that there is a residual cling of magic - _proper_ magic, not magecraft - to them. Even if the spears’ owner isn’t who she thinks it is, the artefact will do.

“We did, yes,” Gow confirms. His left hand moves slightly, to indicate the point of one of the spears. “Testing shows that they’re seventh century, and are made mostly of iron, hence the rust.”

Sola-ui’s eyes don’t move. “What else can you tell me?”

“These didn’t come off in a fight,” he continues. “We found what looked like the attachments to a chariot near by, suggesting that both the chariot and the spears that these were attached to were left there. We’re thinking of moving onto the opposite side of the river - well, once we get the permission from the local authorities - and seeing if we can find similar items there as well.”

Sola-ui nods in confirmation, then finally looks up from the box. “You haven’t recorded the existence of these officially, have you?”

“No, of course not,” he replies, closing the box. “If you’re going to use them in a ritual, then I am going to ask that you only take one, and let me keep the other on-record.”

“Can we take slivers from both?”

“No,” Gow says firmly. “They’re too fragile to try and divvy up like that.”

“I understand,” Sola-ui replies. “What’s the best way to transport these?”

At this, Doctor Gow pauses, thick eyebrows rising. “You’ve skipped the price.”

Sola-ui snorts. “My family pays the salary for your entire archaeological team, Gow, and we send enough magi towards you demanding black market items that I would _think_ we should--”

“--Oh, well, that’s a very valid point,” he agrees, good cheer in his voice. “But I was under the impression that you were purchasing this for Lord El-Melloi, not for yourself, and that _he_ would be paying for this instead.”

News travels slow in Ireland, apparently. “Discount the price,” Sola-ui says offhandedly. “He’ll be family soon, and I’ll personally make sure your funding gets doubled after this.”

Gow nods at the implication. “Very well. With the discount in play, the cost will be a million and a half pounds. I assume you’ll be paying with a check?”

“You assume correctly.” Sola-ui pauses, and begins to shuffle through her purse. She pulls out a pen, then spends another moment grumbling, until she retrieves a bright blue checkbook. “One and a half, you said?” 

“Yes.”

The pen clicks, and she scribbles furiously. “Now, about transporting this,” Sola-ui says, handing Gow the check. He pauses, giving the piece of paper a long, lingering look, then turns his attention back to Sola-ui.

“I have a smaller box that will fit one of the spear heads with me,” he replies, indicating his back pocket. “It’s charmed to be overlooked by anyone who doesn’t know it’s there. As a result, customs won’t be a problem. If you can keep it lying flat, that’d be ideal.”

Sola-ui nods in understanding. “I’ll try my best to.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Doctor Gow smiles, eyes flicking from Sola-ui to a bench near by. “Would you mind if we sit while I get the spear head into its box?”

“Not at all.”

They both move to the bench that overlooks the street. While Gow shuffles the boxes about, Sola-ui makes a point of not watching him, choosing instead to focus on the grey clouds above them that threaten rain. 

“There we go,” Gow says, snapping Sola-ui out of her own thoughts. He has the smaller box in an outstretched hand, and she takes it from him reverently. “Is there a chance this item won’t be destroyed when it’s done being used as a summoning artefact?”

Sola-ui focuses on putting the box in her bag before giving the comment any sort of acknowledgement. “I can’t honestly say. You know that my knowledge of practical evocation doesn’t exist, and as far as the ritual it’s a larger part of, well,” she snorts. "My understanding of why Lord El-Melloi participating at all is that it’s supposedly “ _very_ important to his honour as well as my family's." She zips her bag up, and turns to Gow. “If even a fragment survives, I’ll ensure it gets back to you.

“That would be appreciated," Gow replies. “I take it you need to be on your way?”

There’s a nod, and Sola-ui lets an apologetic look slip. There’s no reason not to have emotional honesty with him, god knows Gow’s earned it. If not for this, then for being the first to help her assimilate into life outside of magecraft at Edinburgh. “I have a deadline I need to meet. Is there a chance that you’ll be back to teaching in Edinburgh next term?”

“There is,” Gow confirms, watching her stand up and sling her purse over her shoulder. His eyes fix on where he knows the box is, and he cringes at every movement, no matter how little. “Would you like to meet somewhere for drinks?”

“Assuming I haven’t moved out of the city, yes,” Sola-ui replies. “All of the other magi in Edinburgh are either children in lineage, or children in terms of behaviour.”

Gow laughs at the observation, loud, bright, and echoing . “I’ll introduce you to some of the magi from out in the Highlands then,” he promises. “Old, venerable, and, well, _Scottish._ It’ll be a change of pace, and hopefully you’ll have stories from this ridiculous ritual to share with us, as well as perhaps news that your brother’s been found.” 

There’s a moment’s darkness that takes over Sola-ui’s face at the mention of her sibling, and her legs stiffen. “We might hope,” she says coolly. “On both accounts.”

Gow stands at that, and offers Sola-ui his hand. “It was good to see you again, Miss Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri. Have a safe flight home.”

Sola-ui takes it, trying to inject some warmth into the action. “As always, Doctor Gow, your help is appreciated. Enjoy the rest of the digging season.”

She lets go, and turns to head back to the Land Rover. The tiny, rubbish Fiat that was parked behind her has moved, meaning that she doesn’t have to struggle to get it out of the parking space. She pauses as she digs for the car keys, something red catching the corner of her eye.

It wouldn’t be a bad time to make the phone call, actually. Sola-ui walks over to the phone booth, and takes a moment to fumble for change. There’s some lurking in the bottom of her purse - the fact that it has a bottom is a surprising fact - and pulls out just enough for a call to England.

The coins clink merrily as they go into the coin slot, and she dials. Some part of her points out that having the number memorized after three months is slightly embarrassing. 

“Yes, hello?”

Good, a servant hasn’t answered, costing her valuable time. “I got the spearhead. The check is for a million and a half pounds.”

There’s a weary sigh on the other end of the line, and Kayneth’s question is a simple, exhausted, “Is that the discounted price?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sola-ui grumbles, hoping that her eye roll is effectively conveyed through the telephone wire. “The item was found along the river with nearby hinges from a chariot. I’ll be very surprised if it doesn’t produce who we’re after. Have you considered another back-up item just in case?”

“There are several auction catalogs open on my desk at the moment,” is the response. “Although I dislike the options I’m seeing. That said, I’ve only gotten through the books and manuscripts ones. There may be other items worth pursuing that I haven’t gotten to yet.”

“Mm,” she replies neutrally. “It occurs to me that this stolen relic nonsense bodes ill if you go at it alone.”

Where Sola-ui expected silence, there is instead an interested _hm._ “Yes?”

“I’m unaware of the particulars of this evocation ritual,” Sola-ui continues, speaking quickly. “But if there was a means of having a second person involved, or else a backup master--”

“--There might be. Its certainly something I can look into.” He pauses. Sola-ui knows what question should come next, but it never does. “You’re on a pay phone, correct? We can continue further discussion when you’re back in London.”

“That’s fine,” Sola-ui agrees. “My flight gets in at Heathrow around one o’clock in the afternoon. I’ll assume that your London flat is preferable to the Clock Tower office?”

It isn’t hard to imagine how red Kayneth’s face is. “That was not funny,” he says coolly. “I’ll see you at the flat around two o’clock.”

The phone clicks, perhaps harder than it needs to, leaving Sola-ui in silence. A small, proud smirk crosses her face, and walks out of the phone box. It isn’t having her family crest, or even anything like equal say in any given matter of importance, but consideration is a start. She can work with that.

**Author's Note:**

> -First and most importantly: a very merry Yuletide to you, Puella Nerdii. Your request was a joy to write, and I hope that this fic is what you were looking for.
> 
> -The fic's title comes from some of the legal information contained in the auction catalog mentioned in the story.
> 
> -Bram’s characterization derives mostly from what we see in Fate/apocrypha. I am a fan of mage families that use all of their family members to support their magic goals, and wanted that to reflect in Bram’s and Sola-ui’s relationship.
> 
> -All of these items were sold at Sotheby’s on 26 November 1985. You can view the photos of [the](https://31.media.tumblr.com/7ed1e6f7cc3b15ae802e59996b700a6d/tumblr_inline_mxti0gfNt51qib0j1.jpg) [gospels](https://31.media.tumblr.com/ddb389c77b064b91b6adc66fa35e40df/tumblr_inline_mxti1iVUfx1qib0j1.jpg) and [the](https://31.media.tumblr.com/4f701e56eec9ada9762a9e9ddf2de832/tumblr_inline_mxti2ay0Za1qib0j1.jpg) [history](https://31.media.tumblr.com/482fd42507b427639a646b0988bdf98c/tumblr_inline_mxti37yIwl1qib0j1.jpg) [text](https://31.media.tumblr.com/4fd3bddb7cec90effb5859391237e30c/tumblr_inline_mxti53z6nl1qib0j1.jpg) in the fic. I really wasn't joking about the elephants.
> 
> -Historically, the St Huberts Gospel sold for 2,217,735.00, according to [this source.](http://dla.library.upenn.edu/dla/schoenberg/record.html?start=25&fq=seller_facet%3A%22Sotheby%27s%22%20AND%20catalogue_date_facet%3A%221985%22%20AND%20catalogue_facet%3A%22Sotheby%27s%20-%201985%2F11%2F26%22&id=SCHOENBERG_1332&) That’s technically 1520453.55 if I put this into an inflation adjuster with the date set for 1985 - although I acknowledge I may be off quite a bit. I was unable to find a final selling price for the Henry III letter, so I looked at similar items like [this](http://www.christies.com/lotfinder/books-manuscripts/henry-iii-king-of-france-autograph-4940006-details.aspx) to get a rough estimate of the price.
> 
> -[Athlone’s significance](http://www.timelessmyths.com/celtic/ossian.html#Pursuit)
> 
> -With thanks to S. and A. for their beta, as well as everyone else who provided input.


End file.
